


Taking Care

by delighted



Category: Hawaii Five-0 (2010)
Genre: Comfort, Episode Related, Feelings, Illnesses, Kissing, M/M, Missing Scene, Sweet, between S8E14 and S8E15, season eight related
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-28
Updated: 2018-02-28
Packaged: 2019-03-25 03:56:20
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,228
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13825965
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/delighted/pseuds/delighted
Summary: Steve’s been trying to make it up to Danny, by working overtime at the restaurant, and Danny’s been letting him... until they both realize that was a big mistake. Maybe they realize some other things in the process.(Basically: How’d we get from Steve saying “I’ll take care of it” at the end of episode 14, to Uncle Vito showing up in episode 15 to take care of stuff for them?)





	Taking Care

**Author's Note:**

> I have zero excuses for this. It’s messy, it’s sappy, it’s dramatic.... It’s stuff my feelings needed and have been wanting for a long time... and I finally caved. And I’m not sorry at all, because it felt so damn good.
> 
> (The medical stuff is just what I needed it to be for the story. So, humor me and pretend I’ve got it right....)

Danny figured it was a testament to how tired he was, how easily brought low, still, after the past few months, that he took Steve at his word without questioning it. Because honestly, “I’ll take care of it” were not words Danny would have typically trusted coming out of Steve’s mouth. Those words often led to explosions, injuries, and outrageous scenarios involving car chases, insane leaps, and other crazy things like dangling suspects off the edges of buildings. So, the fact that Danny simply said “okay” and left it at that, well. Not to excuse him for what happened next, but clearly he had some other stuff going on.

The thing is, he really was tired lately. Much more easily than usual. The broken arm hadn’t helped. But it was the gunshot, he knew that. And, yeah, it had been a lot worse than the other times he’d been shot. But it had taken so much out of him, and he still didn’t feel himself. He had started to wonder if he ever would. But the worst part of it was that Steve was wearing on him more than he usually did. Sure, Danny griped a lot about Steve. And a lot of it came from a place of genuine frustration. Some of it came from affection. But more and more it came, a lot of it, from some stranger mingling of a deep irritation he didn’t entirely understand and a hot, insistent, pushing _something_ he didn’t recognize. And of course, that made him all the more frustrated.

There were jokes about salads (and since when was Steve on Grace’s side about his diet anyway?), and there were idiotic not-checking-that-doors-were-locked. But then there were threads of things beneath all of that, and maybe it was partly his being tired because of the injury, and maybe it was partly something deeper, something else, something he didn’t want to poke too much at, but it was all feeling like _too much_. All of which meant that he was giving in to Steve a little more than usual. And maybe with a bit less questioning. Less _thinking_ about it. Maybe mostly because thinking about it felt very dangerous.

And so, he wound up blaming himself when all of that backfired spectacularly. Because of course Danny letting his guard down when it came to Steve backfired. There was a reason Steve complained about Danny being uptight. He was like that with Steve because if he wasn’t, nine times out of ten, it turned into a disaster. Like it did now.

He should have seen, through the bluster that was Steve complaining about the door that was supposedly locked, his lack of pockets, and so on and on... Danny should have seen through all of that, that what Steve was actually feeling was _guilty_. And of course he couldn’t just admit that like a normal human being, of course he had to take it and make it something twisted and backwards and turn it into actual physical suffering. And Danny hated that it took him so long to see it, but he was still licking his own wounds, and feeling sorry for himself, and how tired he was, and how upset he was—with Steve, and with himself, _and_ with all that under the skin stuff that he was trying to ignore (which is easier to do when you don’t entirely understand it anyway). Because once he saw what Steve had done, what he had been doing, he could see backwards so clearly: that he should have seen it all before it even started.

But he didn’t. He didn’t see it until it was practically passed out on the floor in front of him.

First of all, it was the middle of the fucking night, and why exactly Danny’d ended up back at the restaurant was a bit of a story to begin with. He hadn’t been able to sleep. Which was nothing new. And sometimes, because Steve was no stranger to odd sleep patterns himself, sometimes Danny texted Steve when he couldn’t sleep, and they’d exchange a few insults and it would make him feel better and he could sleep or at least rest more easily. But that night, Steve didn’t respond. Which sometimes happened. Not often, but sometimes. And maybe it was some kind of heightened in-tune-ness or something, but Danny just had a feeling that something was wrong, something was off. And maybe he was still hyper sensitive about the whole tool theft, but “something is wrong” equated, right now, to “the restaurant.” Then, add to that the more typical “something is wrong” equating to “Steve, of course,” and Danny’s heart kind of started pounding frantically in his ears. He wanted to blame the surgery, because something about his heart had felt off ever since then. (And let’s just not mention, right now, please, a certain someone’s hands having been inside his chest, because that’s just a little too symbolic, don’t you think?)

Danny pulled clothes on, grabbed his keys, started for the door, thought of something and went to grab an old quilt from the linen closet, made it to the door, and doubled back again for the bottle of whiskey. He tried to drive slowly, but he just couldn’t hold back the fear that was gripping his heart. And, sure enough. Steve’s truck was outside the restaurant. There was a dim light from inside, but no visible activity, no sounds. It was too quiet, and Danny wasn’t just thinking that because Steve could be so loud when he was working. It was ominously quiet, and Danny’s overactive imagination was kicking into overdrive.

Grabbing the things he’d thrown in the back, he nearly ran for the door, and just about dropped the bottle when he saw what was waiting for him inside, because Steve was crouched on the floor, head resting on his arm, which was clutching the edge of one of the big white work buckets like his life depended on it.

Danny rushed over, putting the quilt down, and tossing the bottle on top.

“Babe, what happened?” He slid to the floor next to Steve, wrapping his arm around him, wanting to pull him into a hug, wanting to wrap him in the blanket, wanting to take him home and put him in bed... and feeling utterly helpless, and so so angry with himself.

Steve whimpered pathetically, retching into the bucket for what was clearly not the first time.

Danny rubbed circles on his back, reached for the whiskey and took a swig to steady his nerves.

“You forgot to take your meds, didn’t you.”

“They’re... at home,” Steve panted, spitting into the bucket. “Didn’t plan on staying... wanted to get more done.”

“Shhh, don’t talk. Do you need me to go get them?”

“No, just... stay, _please_.”

Oh, god, he sounded awful. Broken. It hurt Danny’s heart more than he could stand. “Of course, babe, of course.” Danny tugged on the quilt and lifted it around himself, scooting closer to Steve and trying to transfer some of his body heat to Steve, while still rubbing circles on his back.

Eventually Steve stilled, and he went sort of slack, and Danny risked pulling him off the bucket, putting the lid over it, and keeping it nearby, but moving it out of the way. He pulled his tee-shirt off and wet it with some of this whiskey and wiped Steve up as best he could, then wrapped the quilt more solidly around them, bringing Steve’s head to rest in his lap.

“You’ve been pushing yourself too hard, babe,” he whispered, as he ran his fingers over Steve’s stubbled head. “I should have seen it and stopped you, but I’ve been a bit of an idiot myself lately.”

Steve groaned, and buried his face further in Danny’s lap. “Not your fault,” he croaked out.

“But it is. I made you feel so guilty about the tools. And then, you said you’d take care of it, and I left you alone to do just that.” He really wanted to kick himself for it. “I never should have done that.”

“You were upset.”

“Yeah, I was, but I’m upset with you most of the time, and I don’t usually turn my back on you.”

“I deserved it....”

Steve sounded like he believed that, but he also sounded... more hopeful somehow. He was looking for absolution, Danny thought, and he wanted to hit him for being so stupid, but of course he couldn’t—not when he was clearly such a wreck. “Shut up. Don’t say that. I mean, yeah, you did, but don’t say that.” He sighed and rubbed his hand lower towards Steve’s cheek. “Looks like you’ve punished yourself more than enough....”

“Mmmm....” Steve mumbled, leaning into Danny’s touch. Danny could tell he was drifting towards sleep, so he stopped talking and just kept rubbing his hand, slowly, all over Steve’s head and back and arm, shifting subtly to try and get a little more comfortable, but resigning himself to an uncomfortable hour or so on the cold hard floor. Frankly he felt more than a little like _he_ deserved _that_.

Oddly, he managed to drift off as well, and it wasn’t till he felt Steve stir in his lap and try to sit up that he woke. It was only a couple hours later, but he felt stiff and cold and uncomfortable. And yet.... He felt warm and comforted in a way he couldn’t quite describe.

“How’d you know...?” Steve’s voice was scratchy—raw, no doubt from all the throwing up, but his meaning nonetheless clear to Danny: _How’d you know to come find me_.

Danny closed his eyes and took a breath, opening them to the memory of just a few hours ago. It felt like a lot longer. “I, ah, wasn’t sleeping, so I texted you... and when you didn’t write back, I got worried.”

Steve should not look so adorable, smirking in response to that admission. He looked like crap—well, he looked like he’d thrown up for hours and fallen asleep on the floor. But he looked completely adorable just the same. Danny’s concern was reviving Steve, and while that irritated Danny, it also pleased him, for some strange reason.

“That’s sweet, Danno. You worry about me?”

“We’ve already established that I worry constantly about you.”

“You shouldn’t.”

Danny felt anger at that self-deprecating tone fill his veins, and he fought himself to not move, to not lash out. “Mmm, I think we can say now, without doubt, that I really actually should.” He clearly hadn’t kept all of the fury out of his expression, as Steve looked taken aback.

“I was _trying_ to make it up to you,” he said, physically moving back from Danny. “For the whole tool thing. The door, whatever. I mean, I should have checked, obviously. That was dumb. I dunno what....” But he couldn’t finish the thought, and Danny suddenly saw, with painful clarity, what had happened that night. And he hated himself for not having seen it sooner.

“Oh my god, babe. You got sick that night too. Shit, Steve. What are you thinking, you idiot? You can’t do this. Your body can’t take this.”

Steve cowered, pulled further away from Danny, eyed the bottle of whiskey. “It used to be able to take a lot more.”

“Yeah, well, you jerk, that was before you exposed yourself to fucking radiation in one more attempt to save the fucking world.”

Steve’s grin was maybe closer to a grimace, but Danny was sure that was the pain talking, not his ego. “Well, when you put it like that.....”

“You like that, don’t you. Like being the superhero who saves the world. Well, I wish you didn’t. I wish you liked something a little less dramatic for a change. Like, I don’t know, sleeping in a bed?”

“Is that an offer?” Steve’s eyes were deep green in the pale light, pupils that were already wide gone wider.

“Are you fucking kidding me right now? You’re coming on to me, on this filthy floor, after you’ve spent god knows how long throwing up?”

Steve looked slightly scolded, but the intensity didn’t leave his eyes. “Sleeping on the floor is not good for you, buddy. You’re gonna regret this in the morning.”

Danny sighed, rubbing his neck. “I already do. But not half as much as you’re going to regret it if you don’t slow the fuck down.”

“I... I don’t want to let you down. This is your dream, buddy, and I nearly fucked it up... again.”

“What do you mean, _again_?”

“Letting you get shot, letting us both get infected, leaving the place unlocked....”

“Okay, first of all, those things are not at all close to being equal, you dolt. Second, you really can’t take responsibility for them.”

“Not even the door?”

“At this point I’m feeling like I can’t trust you alone, for your _own_ sake more than our tools. So, yeah. Even the door.” He moved to get more comfortable, pulled the quilt around his bare shoulders. “Steve. Seriously. You really have to stop. You... _none_ of it will matter, if you work yourself into the ground. Are you so dense you can’t see that?” Steve shrugged, and the look of resignation on his face was like a punch to Danny’s gut. It revived his anger, his frustration, his desire to smack Steve till he saw sense. “ _No_. We are not doing this again. You don’t get to slide back into that self sacrificing bullshit. I get it, on some level. You like to be the one to step up, especially if it means protecting me... but you have to see at some point... I need _you_ to protect _yourself_ just as much. More, unless you’re going to let me help. Do I have to watch you constantly? Huh? What do I need to do?”

Something slipped in Steve’s expression; something held back broke forward. He grabbed the bottle of whiskey, poured some into his mouth, rinsed it around, and swallowed, sputtering as he did. “Okay,” he started, looking Danny squarely in the eyes. “You can help.” He took a deep breath, and Danny could actually see layers of something fall away, his expression opening, softening. “I need to get home and in bed. But I can’t do alone. And I want you to stay with me. All night. Because it might get worse. And I’m sorry. I hate this.... Hate to let you _see_ it.”

Danny ran his hands over his face, up into his hair, rubbed there roughly to pull himself further awake, then leveled as stern, as threatening a glare as he could at Steve. “ _Stop_. How are we not past this? You had your hands inside my fucking chest. Okay? How, after everything we’ve been through, can you think I wouldn’t want anything other than to help you through this. _All of it_. If you think that I care about you not being some... indestructible pillar of perfection— _fuck_ , Steve. That’s _not_ why I love you, you _asshole_.”

A slow, sweet smile spread across Steve’s exhausted face. “So you do love me, then?”

“ _Yeah_ , unfortunately, it does seem that way.”

Steve sat gazing adoringly at Danny, who was suddenly keenly aware that he wasn’t wearing a shirt. “Alright, let’s get you home. Do you think you can walk, babe, because I know I can’t carry you....”

The goofy grin didn’t budge. “Yeah, Danny, I can walk. Drive, not so much, but walk, yes.”

Danny got Steve bundled into the Camaro, tucking the quilt around him for no reason other than he felt like he needed extra cushioning. Steve was smirking broadly at his solicitousness, making Danny counter it by promising to punch him if he threw up in the car. He drove slowly, so that Steve wouldn’t get car sick on top of everything else, then ordered him into the shower while he made them hot drinks and found Steve’s pills. There were two bottles, in the downstairs bathroom, so Danny took the nearly empty bottle, put five of the pills into it, and set it next to his keys on the kitchen counter, taking the other bottle up to Steve, along with the mugs of tea and a bottle of water.

Steve was out of the shower and sitting, in his sleep clothes, on the edge of the bed. Danny walked up to him, set the mugs down, handed him the bottle of pills and the water. “I really wish you’d carry these with you, babe. Stick it in your cargo pants.”

“Danny—I really don’t wear cargo—” He looked up at Danny’s glare and cut off, mid sentence. “Yep, alright, good idea. I’ll do that.” He took the pills, and tucked the bottle under his pillow.

“Drink this. It’ll help.” Danny handed him the mug of mint tea, then went over to the dresser to rifle around for something to wear, nearly gasping when he found one of _his_ tee-shirts. He’d wondered where that had got to. Never occurred to him he’d find it in Steve’s pajama drawer.... Feeling oddly exposed, he slipped it on, turning slowly, carefully avoiding eye contact, picking up the mug of tea he’d made for himself, and crawling into the bed next to Steve.

“I, uh....” Steve mumbled, once Danny was settled next to him. “You left it here, one time you stayed over.... I meant to give it back....”

Feeling a warmth he didn’t want to understand wash over his exposed skin, Danny looked up at Steve, forcing himself to take a breath. “You brushed your teeth?”

“Like five times.”

“Come here, then.” And he balanced his mug carefully in his one hand, bringing the other up to rest, softly, behind Steve’s neck, drawing him gently closer so their lips rested lightly together. “You have to let me help. You have to not pretend to be invincible. Before something a whole lot worse than missing tools happens.” He kissed Steve, just lightly. “Promise me that, okay?” He kissed him again.

Steve nodded, relief pouring out of him almost visibly. “Maybe we should have a code word for it, for when I’m not doing well....”

Danny huffed. It was something he’d done with Charlie, when he’d been recovering, and he figured Steve remembered that. “How about ‘pineapple’?” Charlie’s had been ‘fire truck.’

“Hmmm,” Steve seemed to consider it, while licking his lips and looking at Danny’s like they were the most fascinating thing he’d ever seen and he didn’t understand why they were so far away. “Maybe a word I don’t use on a daily basis would be better?”

“Seriously? How do you use ‘pineapple’ on a daily basis? When do you ever say ‘pineapple’?”

Steve thought for a moment. “Well, what if there’s a case on the plantation, and I have to say it five times a day?” He paused, leaned closer, and whispered to Danny’s lips: “Or what if I want pizza?”

Danny managed to not shove him away, but it was a close thing. “Okay, we are _not_ having the conversation about what is and is not pizza. You know this.”

“I do...” Steve muttered, as he took Danny’s mug from him, setting it down next to his own on his side table, returning swiftly to Danny’s lips with a kiss so syrupy sweet Danny got lost in it and barely registered what Steve was saying. “Real pizza doesn’t have fruit. Except, tomatoes technically are fruit, you know.”

“Mmmm. That’s nice.” Danny didn’t take his lips away to say it, so it was slurred and soft, kind of like the kisses were.

“You’re not even listening to me, are you?”

“Hmmm?” All he could think was he missed those lips on his, nothing else seemed to matter.

“Yeah, that’s what I thought.” Steve sounded amused, and it made Danny all fuzzy inside, but then the smirk broke the spell enough for Danny to realize it was nearly morning, and he pushed Steve gently back. “You need to sleep, and so do I. Unless we’re planning on not going to work in the morning—scratch that, in three hours.”

“I think maybe we could call in and say we’ll be late....”

“Both of us? Yeah, that would go over well.”

Steve laughed, and sank into his pillow, pulling Danny down so he landed on his chest, wrapping his arms solidly around him, holding him firmly in place. “I don’t see why not. I’m pretty sure they all think there’s something going on between us anyway.”

Danny didn’t respond right away, because Steve was so close and he smelled so good. How had he never noticed that before? Not just clean, but something warm beneath it, something compelling. Danny wanted to crawl inside it. Attempting to shake himself out that thought, he tried to make his voice sound grumpy, but he thought mostly he sounded smitten. “They do not. They just know you’re an idiot who drives me crazy.”

“Yeah, it kinda sounds like you’re in love with me, when you say it like that.”

“Only you would think that.” But there was no heat there, only sleepy fondness.

“Except. It _is_ true....”

“Yeah, well, I’m an idiot.” But that didn’t seem so bad when it felt this nice, he thought, letting the still slightly-damp heat from Steve’s shower seep into Danny’s own skin.

“Maybe,” Steve whispered, pressing a kiss to the top of Danny’s head. “But you _do_ have good taste.”

“ _That_ remains to be seen. Now please be quiet and let me sleep, or we really will have to call in to work.” He moved his head up, hoping Steve would kiss it again, and he was rewarded not just with a kiss but with a kind of nuzzling against his head that felt amazing.

“I’m the boss,” Steve reminded Danny’s hair. “What I say goes.”

“Mmmm. Not with this, babe. Not with me.”

Danny felt Steve’s chest reverberate softly. “No, not with you. Not unless you let me.”

He sleepily spared half a thought for the possibility that Steve might in fact be more pliable, if Danny was sleeping in his bed. It was a compelling notion, and in the messed up, stressed out haze of the past few hours, it almost looked like the answer to everything. And it felt so much like it had been staring him in the face for so long he must have been blind to not see it. Only... he had this unsettling sensation that he _had_ seen it, had known it. That would sure explain a lot—of his own behavior the past few weeks, and of Steve’s. Which is when it occurred to Danny that Steve had, after that initial round of being sick, rallied rather impressively.

“So, you seem better,” he mused, tangling his fingers in the soft, worn fabric of Steve’s tee-shirt.

“Mmmm,” Steve replied. “The meds sometimes work really fast.... But it wasn’t as bad, once—I mean, it got better when—uh, it, um.... It really helped, _with you there_.” Danny smiled at that, but didn’t say anything, and Steve sighed. “I didn’t expect that. Didn’t realize it would... _help_ so much.”

Nestling further against Steve’s chest, Danny released some of his own regret in a deep sigh. “I just wish I’d been there for more of it. Not just last night or the time before, babe, but all of it. Every single time.”

Steve chuckled lightly, splaying a hand possessively, protectively, over Danny’s head. It felt warm, and safe, and wonderful. “That’s sweet. Disgusting. But sweet.”

Soothed by Steve’s easy return to banter, Danny felt himself drift closer towards sleep. “Yeah, well, it fits. I’m sweet, you’re disgusting....”

“You know, the insults hurt a lot less when you’re in my bed.” There was something in Steve’s tone, low and heated, that sent bare shivers of anticipation through Danny’s blood. Not enough to rouse him now, but a definite promise for later. He wrapped it around himself like a blanket.

“I’ll keep that in mind. Now, sleep, or I’ll punch you.”

Steve yawned. “Your threats of violence have increased dramatically the past few hours....” His voice deepened in his contentment as he drifted towards sleep. “S’that a sign of things t’come?”

“Shhhh. _Sleep_.”

“Mmmkay, Danno. Wha’ev’r you say....”

And they did. Surprisingly well, if only for a few hours. And in the morning Steve did call in, for both of them, for the full day—barring drastic emergencies—and according to Steve, Lou just sounded smug and maybe a little bit relieved?

Danny rolled his eyes but laughed—and he figured that was probably going to be his response to a lot of this. And his heart ached, for the pain Steve had been suffering in silence, and for his obsession with his own hurts because they had kept him from seeing Steve’s. But his heart swelled when Steve held him close, when he could feel the reassuring beat of Steve’s heart beneath his hand. And he knew Steve would drive him crazy every single day—but that had been the case for eight years, and you’d think he’d be used to it by now. But he wasn’t. And he hoped he never would be. Not for a very, very, _very_ long time.


End file.
